


Bad Day in Esperanza

by wigglebox



Series: Post-Season 15 Supernatural Fics / pre-finale [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beach Holidays, Beach House, Case Fic, F/M, M/M, Post-Canon, Shapeshifting, Vampires, kinda sorta maybe canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 09:43:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20405668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wigglebox/pseuds/wigglebox
Summary: Sometimes it's hard to catch a break, even on vacation





	Bad Day in Esperanza

Things started going wrong as soon as they stepped off that damn plane. 

The fact that he was pushed onto a plane in the first place already put Dean in a horrible mood, and what made it worse was getting off the puddle jumper and realizing that his luggage never made it from San Juan Airport to their connecting flight. All he had was a flannel shirt (in the Caribbean, in August) his backpack and the clothes on his back. 

The airline said they’d get his luggage to him as fast as they could, code for “You’ll get it once your vacation wraps up”.

Vieques was Eileen’s idea and on paper, it seemed great. It wasn’t a tourist-loaded island and the beaches were beautiful in the pictures she showed them. She had a friend who knew a friend who had a house they could rent for a couple of weeks. The house, a concrete block painted white, sat on top of a hill just outside the little town of Esperanza. It overlooked the southern beaches of the island, and the U.S. Navy site to the west. 

It was beautiful, but Dean wished he still had his luggage. Thankfully, two other people had clothing he could use in the meantime. 

-

Dean and Cas took the rental car from the airport and arrived at the house first and opened everything up. The tropical air was already humid and intense at nine in the morning and Dean wanted some air conditioning that wasn’t there. It was a basic set up with wicker porch furniture on the concrete patio, wooden table, and chairs inside through a sliding glass door, and a kitchen. There were two rooms with full beds crammed in them, and a small bathroom. It was a tight fit but they’d manage for two weeks. 

As Cas wandered to their bedroom to unpack his suitcase, Dean went out to the patio to look out to the beach below the hill. It was a very beautiful sight, and a complete 180 difference to what they were used to, even up to six months ago. 

But Dean got his beach ending after all. A well-deserved beach ending. 

Sam and Eileen were scheduled to touch down two hours after Cas and Dean did, so the pair decided to go grocery shopping to stock up at least for the night. Dean spotted a grill in the backyard that looked neglected and needed TLC.

The store was a tiny thing with two ceiling fans and five aisles of basic necessities. There were small pods of families chattering away in different parts of the store and a man was arguing with the shop clerk. Shelves contained a healthy mix of local food and stuff found in the continental US. The meat, Dean was delighted to learn, was fresh as fresh could be. 

When Dean turned around with the packaged steak in hand, the bad luck of his day got even worse. 

Behind him was a tweenager holding a sandwich, standing way to close for any reaction time to prevent the sandwich from colliding with the front of Dean’s shirt. Dean could feel the warm contents through the fabric and closed his eyes for just a moment of peace that he couldn’t get otherwise that day. 

"Lo siento mucho, perdone. Está bien?" Dean heard a distant voice. It was the kid. 

Opening his eyes, he saw the boy had taken a few steps back, eyes wide like Dean was going to come at him and throttle him. Instead, Dean took some napkins from the butcher counter behind him and wiped off what he could, brain void of any thoughts. 

"Señor, está seguro que va a estar bien? Puedo ayudarla de alguna manera?" the kid spoke again but Dean only sighed, walking forward and leaving the napkins on a shelf nearby. 

“I can’t understand you, kid,” Dean mumbled as he walked towards the front, steak still in hand, trying to figure out why the universe was out to get him that day. 

_Maybe it was the Bermuda Triangle_. 

Maybe. 

Cas stood by the counter up front, watching as the man at the register started to bag their things. 

“Did you get the --” Cas started as he turned around, stopping before he could finish the thought. Dean watched his eyes rake over his soiled shirt, and the corners of his mouth turn up. Cas opened his mouth to say something --

“Don’t,” Dean held up a finger, “Don’t even start.” 

Cas closed his mouth but the ghost of a smirk still lingered on his face as Dean tossed the packaged meat onto the counter to be rung up. It was only 10:30 a.m. and Dean wanted the day to be done. 

-

The shitty part was that was Dean’s only t-shirt now and they didn’t have access to a washer and dryer (“She said we have to handwash things,” Sam warned before the trip). No amount of scrubbing was going to get the stains from the sandwich out of the gray fabric, so Dean tossed it as soon as they got back. 

Dean left Cas to put away the small number of groceries, opting for a quick shower instead. Washing away that bad energy, that’d work. Gotta get back on track. Vacation starts when he steps out of the bathroom -- that’s it. All of this beforehand was just leftover pre-Vacation nonsense that followed him to the island. It’ll all wash away --

He couldn’t let his mind wander too much while under the spray. If it strayed too far from the trail Dean would get lost in the weeds. It was still a precarious time for all of them and he couldn’t let whatever progress they have made slip away. 

It’s only been six months.

Six months since the gates, six months since the grace exchange, and six months since they realized they really could actually try, _try_ to have somewhat of a normal life. The mere concept of that was so foreign to them, given every time they tried it backfired, that Dean and Sam still felt like they were walking on eggshells, and one misstep will catapult them back into cosmic problems that were out of their control.

But a lot had happened in those six months that were good and that’s what Dean was clinging to so he didn’t get swept back out into the tide. 

Dammit. 

He was thinking too much. 

Dean reached over and turned the small spittle of water off, bringing himself back to the present. There were birds outside in a tree near the home, and even from high atop the hill Dean could have sworn he could still hear the waves. The house was the only one on the hill and Dean could hear nothing else other than what the island had to offer. 

Shake all that bad shit off. 

-

Dried and halfway back to dressed, Dean managed to squeeze himself out of the tiny bathroom, letting the steam out with him. 

Cas stood in the doorway to their room, leaning against the jamb while scrolling through his phone. It was another six-month thing Dean had to get used to, seeing Cas so casual and --

Human. 

Dean shut the thoughts down again before they could wander outside his grasp. He finished running the towel over his head and tossed it back onto the bathroom floor before heading to their room. 

Cas didn’t move. 

“Excuse me,” Dean said, watching Cas remain in his position, blocking the door. 

“You’re excused,” Cas flashed back, looking up from his phone. 

“You can move or I can move you. I need one of your shirts.”

Cas remained, pocketing his phone and crossing his arms. 

“No, I don’t think you need one of them,” Cas replied, that ghost of a smirk coming back. 

It only took Dean a moment to understand what was going on. 

“I can’t walk around town half-naked.”

Cas had that look of hunger growing as he slowly advanced on Dean from the doorway. It was the look that in recent months made Dean hold his breath in rapt anticipation, waiting for _something_ to happen. But he never took that first step, letting Cas, new to the game, set the pace. 

Dean allowed his space to be crowded, allowed Cas to press him against the back of the couch that faced the kitchen. It was close. A lot closer than they ever dared to get before the mutual acceptance and understanding six months ago. But there was still that small space between them, the uncharted territory between figuring things out and landing soundly on the ground together. 

They still hadn’t said the last bit that needed to be said but they both mutually understood there was no rush now. It was there, though. They both felt it. 

And now, Dean felt a hand find its way where it always seemed to find itself lately, easier access provided by a lowered zipper and undone button. 

The newly found boldness was an aphrodisiac. 

“Bribe me all you want but Sam will be here soon and I’m not gonna look like — ”

“Please don’t mention your brother when I have my hand down your pants,” Cas interrupted as he made his way to that sensitive spot just under Dean’s ear. 

So Dean obediently shut his mouth and let another one take over. 

Neither one was watching the time and by the time the sound of tires rolling over gravel hit their ears, Dean was half out of his pants and the flannel discarded and forgotten on the couch behind him, replaced instead by wandering palms and a hot mouth. 

They didn’t want to part but the sound of a car door snapped them back to attention, Dean feeling a shiver run through him at the sudden loss of heat. Another car door noise pushed him into action, zipping up in a flash and turning around to grab the shirt, wincing at the slight discomfort. Cas, already composed, started to head out the door. 

“You better finish what you started,” Dean demanded, buttoning up as fast as he could. 

Cas smirked and only shrugged in response before heading out into the driveway. Dean sighed, thinking of anything to get his boiling blood back under control. 

-

Dean eventually followed Cas out to the Jeep while he finished buttoning up most of his shirt. Eileen was already standing up, waving at them both while Sam hopped out and went to the back to get their luggage. 

“Did you find my bag back there too?” Dean joked, walking over to help out, only feeling slightly bitter he was the only one with _nothing_. 

Sam looked up at him and even through the sunglasses, Dean could tell his appearance was already being judged. 

“Why are you wearing that outside --” Sam started before Dean held up a hand, adjusting a bag on his shoulder. 

“Lost luggage. Looks like I’m living in tourist shirts for a while.” 

Sam let out a laugh, dragging out the last suitcase from the Jeep. 

“Take your sunglasses off, stay awhile,” Dean said, placing the bags in the living room, waiting for space to clear up in the bedroom, “We got some food here. Not much but --”

“We actually passed a pretty nice looking cantina on our way from the airport. Want to go there for some lunch? We haven’t eaten in hours,” Sam interrupted, throwing his bag onto the couch. 

Dean shrugged and nodded.

It was better food anyway. 

-

Lunch was where things went from wrong to strange. 

They stopped into Café del Mar for their lunch, and Dean didn’t realize how hungry he was until he smelled the steak and frying oil. Authentic Puerto Rican food it was not. 

They were sat outside so they could overlook the bright and shining beach with its blue seas with palm trees bending low above it like they were trying to touch the water themselves. Two sailboats were just offshore, and Dean wondered if it was possible to score one for himself one day. Because they had time now. 

The moment Dean started to get an inkling something was off was when Sam ordered the Angus skirt steak, rare, with all the fillings and trappings that came with it. 

“You really are hungry huh?” 

Sam only nodded. Eileen ordered the same thing. 

They ate with mild chit chat, too focused on their meal and the view to get into deeper conversations. Sam and Eileen finished their food first, eating like they hadn’t in months rather than hours. 

They never took their sunglasses off. 

-

Food in his system, Dean felt better as they drove back to the house. His luck seemed to be turning for the better come early afternoon and that morning seemed to be a distant memory, except owing to the fact that he still didn’t have his luggage. But, whatever man. It’s a vacation -- time to lay back and relax. 

Back at the house, they did, in fact, lay back and relax. The patio on the south part of the house overlooked the beach way down below and the sun was still high in the sky. This time, Cas allowed Dean to borrow some sun lounging clothing so he didn’t overheat. Sam and Eileen had beaten them out there, leaning back in the Adirondack chairs. Eileen was scrolling through her phone, and Sam looked like he was well on his way to sleep. 

Dean couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling beginning to grow. He had no logic for it, nothing to support it but it was there. He wondered if it was from the slight stress from earlier in the morning but no -- it felt different than just annoyance. 

Cas, still struggling several months post-grace, opted for a quick siesta to work off the slight food coma.

Dean was convinced Sam was actually asleep when he went out a few minutes later. The man wasn’t moving. As soon as Dean settled down onto a chair in the sun, Eileen lifted herself off of her own chair, still not looking up from her phone, and disappeared into the house. 

The silence was unnerving. 

Sam wasn’t ever usually a chatterbox to begin with but the lack of constant unyielding stress made him more bright and alert to the world, ready to talk about things without the emotional burden that was always present. At times, Dean couldn’t get Sam to shut up about a certain topic, but he found he didn’t care that much. It was a refreshing change of pace and helped them transition from Then to Now. 

But as they sat overlooking the ocean below them, Sam remained silent. No talking about the plane ride in, what he and Eileen were up to the past week, something stupid he found online -- nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

And that’s when Dean heard it. 

The waves from the beach down the hill had some kind of lull, making the static noise pause for only a moment but a moment was long enough. Somewhere behind him, probably on the other side of the house, Dean heard a woman speaking in Spanish. She was quiet enough, thinking the waves would mask her voice, but it was heard just the same. 

There were no other houses around. 

There were no neighbors. 

There were no other women except for -- 

Dean snapped his head to his right and saw Sam had also turned, the black pit of the sunglasses staring right back. Without a chance to think, Dean braced himself to run while also leaning forward and ripping the damned things off. 

Dark brown eyes blinked, confused at the sudden brightness. The wrong eyes. A very wrong color with a deep brown, almost black looking in the shade. The shape was even wrong. Everything else about him was correct was right but the eyes were wrong. 

Before Dean could get a single word out, Not-Sam lunged forward off the chair, grabbing Dean by the upper arms and slamming him into the wall. His head did not connect to the structure, avoiding serious injury, but pain radiated up and down Dean’s back from the collision. 

Scared, angry, confused -- Dean automatically brought a knee up and nailed the intended target, causing Not-Sam to double over and back away, whining in pain. Dean advanced over to the creature’s side and shoved a flip-flopped foot into its ribs and knocked it over to the side onto the patio. 

It was quick to recover though. 

By the time Dean managed to get to the wooden footrest that paired with the Adirondack chair, Not-Sam crossed the space between them and spun Dean back around. The footrest fell and smashed Dean’s foot against the concrete and a shout of pain escaped from him just before a hand closed around his throat. 

Turning his back to the sliding glass door, Sam framed Dean against the bright blue sky that welcomed Dean hours before to his relaxing, carefree vacation.

“We were at least going to wait until dinner, give you at least a day here. But, now is good as ever I guess,” Not-Sam said, a twisted, very fake smile creeping across his face. 

Dean wanted to ask questions but his airway was slowly being crushed and his mind was racing a mile a minute trying to keep up with the sudden turn of events. One of the questions was answered however when Not-Sam, seemingly joyous at Dean’s almost unconscious state, tilted his head against the sun and his eyes reflected the light like a dog’s. 

As Dean felt himself slip further and further into the suffocating black hole, he saw movement behind Not-Sam. His vision held on long enough to see Cas coming up behind the skinwalker, arms high, holding something of considerable weight that Dean couldn’t make out. 

Dean managed a smile. 

“What the hell are you laughing at, bozo?” Not-Sam growled. 

“You’re about to have a bad day,” Dean choked out. 

Whatever Cas was holding collided with the back of Not-Sam’s head with a sickening thump and Dean soon found himself collapsed next to the shifter on the ground. Coughing, heaving, Dean stayed on all fours until he could be sure the black around the edges of his vision was gone and he could learn to breathe again. 

Not-Sam was still. 

“Where’s the other one?” Cas asked, voice steady and calm.

An alarm bell suddenly rang in the back of his head and Dean lifted a weak arm and pointed to behind Cas, still trying to catch his breath. 

“There.” The word was hardly there. Dean swallowed in pain, wincing, and tried again, “Over there.”

Dean looked up to follow his finger, Cas turned as well, and both of them saw Not-Eileen standing just beyond the long dining room with a knife in her hand. Her sunglasses were off as well but Dean couldn’t see any malformity on her like Not-Sam. She looked wild though, paler than Eileen normally was with a dark glint to her glare. She was ready for a fight. 

Panic lept into Dean’s already clogged throat as Cas took the item he had before, a cinder block that was turned into an art piece by some other person who lived here. The blood from Not-Sam’s head painted over the bright patterns someone painstakingly labored over. 

“Don’t -- wait,” Dean tried but he still couldn’t get his voice over a whisper. His breath was returning but his throat still felt like sandpaper. As Cas approached the other end of the table, the side that faced the outdoors, Dean managed to stumble up onto his feet, looking at the ground for a depth perception reference. A metallic clatter made Dean whip his head back to the showdown next to him, the panic bubble growing. 

Cas’s arm was still swinging with the momentum of whatever he did to shield Dean from the chef’s knife that Not-Eileen threw at him, almost dead on. 

She didn’t move from behind the table. 

“Why are you doing this?” Dean asked, trying to buy time as he mentally ran over the house, trying to remember what was in the small rooms or in the chest of drawers to his left, trying to find some kind of silver since it’s not like they had the damn car anymore -- 

“We’re contractors,” Not-Eileen said in what sounded like the shifter’s original voice, “And you’re the job.”

The question that had been slowly building to burst in Dean’s head was one he didn’t want to ask, fearing the answer, but had to ask anyway. Shifters often did not keep the original forms alive. The panic that had started to swell in Dean increased the anxiety he had that quite possibly, after only six months of relief, Sam was gone for good. All because of a stupid, dumbass, scum of the earth shifter. 

“Where’s my brother.” Dean didn’t ask for the answer, he demanded it. 

Not-Eileen grinned, eyes squinting, “Worried? I would be too. They are in a bad way and they don’t have long.” She was teasing, egging him on, distracting his focus. 

Dean felt that anger building again, a feeling that hadn’t been around very often. They had taken small jobs here and there because no matter how hard they tried not to, it was cemented into their life. Nothing presented itself like this, however, and Dean was out of practice. He forgot how easy it was for them to be gone forever, no one taking pity on them anymore. No help, no cosmic interference, no plan to be fulfilled. For some reason, he had forgotten that until that afternoon when he realized that his brother very well could be dead, the body dumped in a shallow ditch in a rural part of the island. If he was dead, then Eileen would be too. 

The image of imaginary corpses is what did it. Dean bolted from their end of the table over to the chest of drawers, hoping to God _no not God_ there was some actual silverware in there. It was a rental, his chances were low, but he had to at least try. All thoughts had to shut down again in order to unlock his legs and mind. It wasn’t emotional, it can’t be emotional -- it’s all action. Get it done. Get the thing, get the thing, get the thing and kill the other thing and that’s the end goal -- 

As his hand closed on the knob, he felt a hand on his shoulder but it slipped away almost as fast, the shifter shouting something behind him. He heard a punch, another punch, noises, and the sound of a body hitting the table. Dean didn’t look around. There were many drawers consisting of many things, an heirloom painted wood object that must have been the owner’s from a grandmother. 

The top ones were napkins, dishes, and wine rings. 

The second ones just below were full of old magazines. 

Dean heard another body hit against the concrete surface of a wall behind him and the shifter shout again, the scraping of a chair, the chair colliding with a body, Cas’s audible efforts to keep the thing at bay --

Third drawers down had photo albums. 

Dean was losing hope. Another yell, shout, swear, and a loud thump. 

The fourth and final set of drawers had what he was looking for. They were the deeper ones and inside were porcelain plates with cardboard between them. In a small utensil storage unit, Dean saw the glint of (hopefully) silverware. He ignored the small post-it asking renters to please avoid using this dinner set up and grabbed a butter knife and a pie serving knife. It wasn’t going to kill them, not by a long shot unless he wanted to stay there hacking away at their necks all night -- but it’d do the job. 

Dean spun around, almost falling over from the slight dizziness, and saw Not-Eileen sprawled across the table, limp with her fake hair and fake hands with fake nails dangling over the edge. Cas looked rough but other than a cut across his cheek and a bruise that was already forming above his eye, he was relatively unscathed. Breathing hard, his stature and face was also locked in the same “get it done” mode as Dean, and they wouldn’t stand down until the threat was eliminated. 

“Help me tie them up,” Dean said, heading over the sliding door to make sure the Not-Sam shifter was still there. At first, he worried that they somehow killed him with a brick instead of using the conventional method, but Dean focused on the body and saw his back rising and lowering with shallow breaths. He was fine, for now. 

Cas obeyed and immediately went over to the knife on the floor, stepped outside, and started cutting at the rope on the clothesline that went from the outside wall of the house out to a post in the yard. Dean moved Not-Sam and Not-Eileen over to one of the concrete pillars that supported the second floor’s balcony. Together, he and Cas tied them to the pillar and waited. 

-

The Marvins were a couple from Chicago who were perfectly normal people to other perfectly normal people. They were very well off, living on the River North area, hosted cocktail parties in their top floor apartment, and Mrs. Marvin even had a beautiful heirloom diamond necklace she said was from her great grandmother who survived the Titanic disaster.

Except that story was a lie. Mrs. Marvin bought the necklace herself while she and her husband toured South Africa in 1914 on their 50th year anniversary together. It was her favorite item of everything in their home. 

The Marvins loved to travel and loved to sample the local cuisine everywhere they went. Everyone tasted different, despite what some other Vampires thought. Those were the ones who stayed in a back-hole barn in some back-hole country bumpkin town and drank all day and partied all night. Those were the ones who were classless and died fast. 

Tourists, they found, were the best meals. 

Tourists were often lost, confused, jet-lagged, and had their defenses down. For the most part, tourists didn’t know anyone who lived where they visited and had no one to run to. Tourists clogged their arteries on their vacation with everything they could find to eat, healing hangovers with greasy and salty foods and pretending to be fancy at night. 

Tourist blood tasted good. 

That spring, they decided they wanted to go back to Vieques, Puerto Rico. They hadn’t been in over a decade and missed that small, bomb-beaten island and after stopping at all the other Caribbean islands, they decided to start circling back around, especially to see the recovery from Hurricane Maria. 

They exclusively dined on tourists in Vieques because the island was so small, and every local knew every local. No one cared about the tourists. 

Thankfully, they had a hookup in Vieques that made the job easier for them. They didn’t like tracking their meals down when they traveled, feeling it took time away from the vacation. In various regions, they decided to befriend other local monsters who were eager to make a quick buck. Contractors who can find meals for them. 

The Marvins were tipped off that they’d have four people waiting for them at Antonio Rivera Rodríguez Airport, tied up and waiting in a small hangar off to the side of the main terminal. Three men and a woman, all looking healthy. 

The shifters they befriended in Vieques were skittish and rather annoying, but the Marvins paid extra for the effort. 

The shifters, Miguel and Camila, found themselves at Isla Nena Crabwalk Cafe that day in anticipation of the Marvins’ visit. They had seen the two men who got off the first plane of the day and overheard their conversation about a Sam and Eileen and lunch and maybe a BBQ. 

They were expecting more in their party. 

Camila came up with the plan to wait for the other two to arrive, the logic being they could be overrun easily if they tried to get at the two and the others showed up. They would be outnumbered in combat and containing the capture. 

So they waited. 

It wasn’t hard to spot the two that belonged to the initial party. The airport was small with little puddle jumper planes that could carry only six passengers at a time, and tourist season hadn’t seriously begun yet. 

The third plane of the day brought two elderly people who did not look like they belonged with the two other men and a younger couple that common sense made Miguel and Camila perk up. The woman was signing with her hands, and the man was watching her intently as they both walked over to the baggage claim. 

“Are you able to say quiet long enough to pull this off?” Miguel asked, turning to Camila with a smirk plastered on his face. Camila punched him in the arm. 

It was easier than they anticipated to knock the new arrivals off their guard. The woman, Eileen, got her bag first and was already walking out to the rented Jeep that idled in the car bay outside while the man, Sam, headed to the bathroom, bag in hand. Miguel and Camila split up and stalked down their intended targets. 

Inside the bathroom, Miguel got to Sam before he shut a stall door. He grabbed the edge and ripped it back, practically off the hinges, taking Sam by surprise. Before the man could react, however, Miguel pushed him back against the tiled wall, hearing a satisfying collision. Sam was taller than Miguel but that never stopped the shifter before, and wouldn’t stop him now. 

Sam was disoriented in the small space so Miguel allowed him to come out. Sam remained where he was, rubbing the back of his head as his expression melted from confusion to anger. Miguel watched as one hand patted around his body, clearly looking for something and swearing when he couldn’t find it. Sam’s glare turned from Miguel to the suitcase on the floor next to him by the sinks. 

_There’s a gun in there, _Miguel realized, _he thinks that can stop me_. 

It’d hurt for sure to be hit by a bullet but it wouldn’t kill him. Not by a long shot. 

“That won’t kill me, whatever you’re looking for,” Miguel teased, trying to bait the man out of the stall. The space was too tight in there for the combat he needed to subdue Sam. 

A pause. Then: “What are you?”

The question was weird. Not _who are you_ but _what are you_. 

Miguel pushed it out of his mind. He needed to focus. 

“The last thing you see before you die.” Miguel had to get the ball rolling. Sam reacted at that line and finally lunged out of the stall like a rocket. The two met, a punch here, a knee to the ribs there. Miguel knew he was making noise, but the terminal wasn’t expecting another plane for an hour or so, and the girl at the ticket counter always had her headphones in. 

Sam slammed Miguel against one of the porcelain sinks which fell off the wall, smashing down onto the ground, cutting Miguel’s knee and hand. 

The lack of blood coming out of Miguel from the deep wounds caused Sam to pause, confused with a piece of jagged porcelain in his hand. Miguel could have sworn he detected a hint of understanding dawning on Sam’s face, but quickly explained it as paranoia. He took advantage of the small lapse in focus combat and pushed forward to get the upper hand. In a flash, he ducked down and grabbed Sam’s heavy suitcase and threw it at him, knocking him down onto the floor before Sam could close the gap between them. 

On the ground, a dazed Sam held a hand to his face where a wheel well nicked him. Without another word or thought, Miguel walked over and kicked Sam in the head, just hard enough to knock him out cold. 

It was easier for Camila to subdue Eileen, and she bragged about it as they tied the two up against a pillar similar to the one they were going to soon find themselves against. 

“She’s deaf. Of course it was easier,” Miguel snapped, finishing the knot. 

“She was still a handful! I don’t know if these guys are kickboxers or what but I never had to deal with that level of fighting back.”

The look on Sam’s face back in the bathroom wormed its way back into the front of Miguel’s mind, more as a reminder than a warning. He took note, and then went back to the task at hand. 

Eileen and Sam were tied against the pillar in a darkened corner below the baggage claim and cafe. There were some storage boxes and pallets of food for the restaurant upstairs. One lone suitcase was dumped in the corner by the door, and Miguel saw random glass liquor bottles and milk crates nearby, cigarette butts littering the floor. The room was always unlocked, and the Marvins were scheduled to arrive later that evening. Miguel knew the boys out on the tarmac played poker downstairs only on Wednesday and Friday evenings, so they were safe in that regard. They stuffed Eileen and Sam’s mouth so they couldn’t scream for help if they woke up. The only way they’d be found is if someone who needed food for the restaurant came down and looked behind the pallet and two stacks of storage boxes into the dark corner. 

But the restaurant closed in an hour. They only served until lunch on Saturdays. 

It was a perfect set up. 

Together they shifted their appearances, morphing into the two against the pillar.

As Camila lit up a cigarette, Miguel took out his cellphone and tapped out the location where the tourists would be to Mr. Marvin, who would see it as he and his wife stepped off the plane. 

All they had to do now was get the other two and call it a day, collect payment tomorrow.

-

The silver knife, as blunt as it was, still hurt and broke skin when enough pressure was applied, causing Miguel to scream in pain when Dean dug it into his neck. Still no blood, but sizzling flesh that smelled like a mixture of low tide and a cow farm. It was disgusting, but Dean kept at it while Cas held the serving knife, the thing with a serrated edge on one side, to the neck of Not-Elieen, or, Camila. 

“How did you know where we were,” Dean asked, his face crowding Miguel’s, “And how come you couldn’t even change properly.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand for an answer.

Miguel, panting in pain, turned his gaze to Dean as much as he could without disturbing his wound. He still looked like Sam which made the interrogation hard but Dean kept reminding himself to look at the eyes. It wasn’t him.

“We were sloppy, okay? We never took the sunglasses off and honestly, didn’t think you’d be around long enough to notice.”

“There was a paper in her bag with the address and the car rental company,” Camila admitted, Cas moving the knife ever closer to her skin. 

If they were telling the truth, Sam and Eileen were still alive and only tied up in a rank basement with some bread and beer. _If_ they were telling the truth. Dean looked up and caught Cas watching him. The ability to shut off the robot-like, automatic survival mode and slip into normalcy was getting easier for both of them, and it showed on Cas’s face. Once the threat was neutralized, they both felt slightly better, easing up as Miguel and Camila told their story Dean hoped was true. 

Silent communication. Both men believed the shifters. 

“When is the plane landing?” Cas asked, finally looking away back to the shifters. 

“Seven.”

Dean turned to look back into the house to the ugly, colorful clock on the wall. 6:04 p.m.

They had to move fast. 

-

The first challenge was moving two shifters who were stronger than them into a car without letting them slip away. They used the extra rope to tie both ankles tight and wound it up the legs to mid-thigh. Just as a precaution. 

Once bound, they undid the knot, but Dean still held the rope that bound the shifters to the pillar manually, slackening it just enough for Cas to take hold of their ankles and pull them out from underneath. They were temporarily bound together with the curtains from the sliding glass window until Dean could free their previous bindings from the pillar and transfer it to them on the ground. 

The shifters didn’t struggle much. They seemed to understand their weakened position.

-

The car ride was easy. They didn’t talk the whole time. 

-

The second challenge was getting onto airport grounds where they weren’t allowed with two fully grown people tied up and unable to properly walk and they only had twenty minutes to do it. 

However, they soon realized the terminal was practically empty. The cafe was closed, there was one ticket agent, the same one from earlier, with her earbuds in, and no passengers milling around. 

They had to get into the locked cafe in order to access the basement room; the only other option was absurdly parading the shifters around in front of a 20-something-year-old woman and the only two security cameras in the place. The sun was just dipping below the horizon. Darkness was their camouflage. 

The outside cafe entrance had a simple lock that was easily breakable by taking a foot to the door with some force. No alarm system screamed at them. Still no cameras. 

Dean let Cas steer the shifters as he wandered over to the small kitchen. There would be no machetes here but the butcher knives were large enough to down the vamps and get them in a position for their long-overdue death. 

Small tendrils of nerves started to manifest at the tips of Dean’s fingers, making him shake slightly as he picked up the knives. He hadn’t done this in a while. Not that he was scared - given what they’ve faced there’s nothing really to be scared of anymore, but just being out of practice. Dean lifted a hand to his neck and felt the tenderness where the bruises were going to form from the shifter grabbing him. Dean felt just as sloppy as those monsters. 

“Hey, six minutes,” Cas’s voice floated over to him from the small dining area, holding the shifters by the rope, “Are there two of those?” 

Dean blinked and sighed, looking around for a second set of knives. There was a drawer next to him with an assortment of cooking utensils, including another butcher knife. He started to feel a little better. 

-

The basement was dark, and they could hardly see a thing. The shifters were stiff now, still quiet despite not having their mouths gagged. Dean kept waiting for them to try and break for it, but they never did. Maybe they were accepting their fate. Maybe they didn’t know what was going to happen. 

Dean stepped ahead into the room, Cas staying in the doorway with the shifters. Pulling out his phone, Dean tried to hear if there was any movement, maybe Sam struggling against the ropes. No sound. Not even a rat. 

The flashlight threw a harsh blue light over only a small section of the darkroom. Dean could barely make out the boxes and pallets that Miguel and Camila described at the edge of the light. 

“Sam?” Dean called out into the darkness ahead of him. 

Now there was a sound of movement, shoes scraping against the dirt and rocks of a concrete floor. 

Dean moved as fast as he could, avoiding any obstacles not immediately revealed by the light until he found the narrow hallway. 

“Sam?” Dean asked again, quieter. The edge of the light hit a shoe, and then the leg attached to the shoe, eventually hit the face of a man with a black eye and some dried blood on the side of his head, squinting at the sudden brightness.

They were alive. 

They were okay. 

-

The people who would board C-443N to San Juan from Vieques the next morning would notice some dark substance on the plane’s propellers that the pilot was vigorously cleaning off, but not think much of it, assuming it was some bird shit that occurred overnight. 

No one would really notice the dark stains on the pavement, the asphalt being dark allowed it to blend better. 

Everyone traveling through the airport would be blissfully unaware of what took place the night before when a group of people was seen running in the far corner of the security camera with two others hot on their trail. 

They wouldn’t know that the only way that the group of people lived to see the morning was thanks to a neglectful pilot who kept the engine running as he went into a hangar to get drunk with his buddies. No one would ever have the knowledge that the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry and after vampires ripped apart two monsters who were lazy and incompetent, they turned their sights to three men and one woman. The group’s little butcher knives wouldn’t work. They didn’t have the element of surprise anymore. 

The group of people took off running, the evidence captured by the camera, out onto the tarmac. Once out of frame, they split up, diverting the vampires’ attention. In the dark, they could hardly see but they tried to loop around. All four of the people running away had the same idea when they saw the plane, the very same one that the vampires descended from only 30 minutes prior. 

One of the men took the risk and ran straight at the plane, the blood-sucking horror right behind him. There was a discarded tire block meant to hold the plane in place that he almost tripped on. He could hear the footsteps getting closer and closer, and waited until the last minute before he whipped to the side, turning in time to see the monster behind him trip over the block and tumble headfirst into the spinning blade. 

One down. 

The woman with the group came sprinting out of an alleyway between two hangars on the other side of the tarmac. The man who tripped and almost lost his own head set up position again in front of the propeller. The two other men with the group brought in the rear. 

The woman came close as she dared go, then ducked out of the way while the vampire couldn’t slow her own momentum. The man also moved just in time for the other monster to get her head blended by the rotating blade, unable to stop in time. 

-

There was a bonfire that night atop a hill in Esperanza. The fire department took notice just in case it spread out of control during their current drought. 

-

“You ruined my shirt.” 

Dean had an ice pack under his eye, resting on his cheekbone. He laid in the narrow bed in their respective bedroom, staring up at the ceiling fan. Cas sat at the small desk wedged in the corner, wrapping up his own wound after his arm hit the side of one of the corrugated metal buildings. Dean and Eileen wound up with blood on their clothing which wound up going into the fire pit as well. It was one of Cas’s favorite shirts.

“We’ll find you another one.” 

A small pause. 

“You could have died.”

Dean sighed. He knew that this was eventually going to come up into conversation, he just expected it to be Sam first. 

“But I didn’t.”

“You almost did.”

Propping himself up on one elbow, Dean lowered the ice pack from his face. 

“We all ‘almost did’. Ever since we stepped off the plane we all ‘almost did’. But the point is we didn’t, and hopefully, that won’t happen again.” Dean didn’t have the energy to deal with the conversation that needed to happen. He knew what he did was reckless and stupid and an echo of a Before Time that no longer reflected where they were. 

The fear was lingering on them like an after taste and Dean only hoped it would all start to dissipate the next morning. 

It was a bad day. Bad days happen, bad things happened -- there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it. They knew the underlayer of the world and knew what happened out of the corner of everyone’s eye. That knowledge would never go away. 

But, Dean concluded as he was joined in bed and the lights turned out, they were slowly starting to learn new things as well. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Some back story on this fic: This was intended to be a small crackfic based on some anti-Destiel Twitter nonsense and then turned into a little 7k case fic! 
> 
> My brain wanted it to make sense, so I actually tried my hardest to make it make sense. 
> 
> Out of annoyance and confusion comes a fic I'm happy with! 
> 
> A big thank you to @Tennyo for some Beta work! I also took a quick look over but like always, everyone is human so if there's an error, please let me know!


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